


For Those Who Wait

by YellowDistress



Series: What We Are [2]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fluff and Angst, Kid Fic, Kid Peter Parker, Parent Tony Stark, Peter Parker is Tony Stark's Biological Child, Pre-Iron Man 1, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-08
Updated: 2018-09-09
Packaged: 2019-07-08 08:41:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15926852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YellowDistress/pseuds/YellowDistress
Summary: Peter's father had been missing for a trillion days.Well...maybe not a trillion. But forever.(Continuation of 'Stars, Hide Your Fires')





	1. The Son's Vantage Point

**Author's Note:**

> Hi guys! So I know I said I was taking a hiatus, and I swear I still am, but I felt like I just had to write something. Yes, school is already making me crazy and I'm only like three weeks in haha! But, I thought I'd write this little piece here.
> 
> It's the first time I've really ever written from a child's point of view. Peter is six, almost seven (which I guess you could figure out considering how the dates compare to the last story haha) 
> 
> I do suggest reading that one first, or else you may be lost with what's going on. I'm thinking of maybe adding a second chapter from Tony's point of view. But for now I'll just have one. If you guys would like to see a second one with Tony's point of view, let me know! 
> 
> I hope you guys enjoy. I miss writing so much :( ugh I wish I had time to start another multi-chapter story.

_February 2008_

Peter didn’t know where Afghanistan was, but he knew his dad was going to have to go for a few weeks.

 

The six-year-old had asked many questions about the foreign place. About what it would look like and the kinds of things his father would be doing there. His father had danced around the answer and even though he was six, Peter knew when his father’s eyes would shift into avoidance. A lot like the nights where Peter would ask about those vague memories that always brought nightmares. And his father would grimace, brush his hair back and tell him it wasn’t real, but it _felt_ real to Peter.

 

_“It wasn’t real, Pete, it was just a dream.”_

His father was lying, because when he lied his voice shook like the leaves when the ocean breeze got to be too much. Peter had even resorted to asking Pepper, because Pepper rarely lied to him and she too was in some of the memories, scratching his back in a cafeteria where people didn’t speak the same language as them.

 

She lied too, indirectly, Peter supposed, because she always told him that those were questions for his father to answer, not her.

 

Peter didn’t know what the word indirectly meant, but he knew it was something of the sort.

 

So, his father had gotten that voice and the furrowed brows whenever Peter had asked about what he would be doing in Afghanistan. _“Just testing technology, kiddo.”_

But his father had told him that Afghanistan had a lot of sand. Like a desert, but with mountains and Peter liked that idea. The mountain idea. Sand bothered him though. The texture felt funny, like roughness and too small, under his fingernails. It got in his eyes, the summer before and then Uncle Rhodey had put drops in his eyes that had burned.

 

Uncle Rhodey was going to Afghanistan too, but Peter knew Uncle Rhodey had been many times, and he had promised to take care of Peter’s father, so when they left on the plane that Peter still didn’t really trust: Peter was confident in his father and Uncle Rhodey.

 

Days and nights went by. Ms. Goldrush stayed with him every day and night. Did all the things his father did, and she was nice, but not nearly as fun as his father was. She looked a bit like Pepper and Peter felt like maybe that was why Pepper had hired her, because she reminded her of herself. And Peter would like someone like himself too, like the boy he had met at summer camp. His name was Ned and he too played with Legos and he lived in Queens.

 

Peter knew he also _used_ to live in Queens. His father didn’t talk about that much, just like the scary memories. But the Queens memories were good, even though it didn’t really feel like Queens. He couldn’t recall much, other than the cat that lived in the deli and the apartment his mother and other-father had.

 

His father squirmed at the mention of Peter’s other-father. And Peter felt guilty, but his other-father had existed and the entire thing was a bit mind-boggling. Peter had learned ‘mind-boggling’ from Miss Thacker and he liked that word a whole lot. 

 

Peter remembered _that_ when he and Ms. Goldrush were gluing together his Valentine’s Day cards for his class in order to hand them out the following week. Pepper had arrived, face a bit blotchy. Peter’s face got blotchy when he cried, but grown-ups weren’t supposed to cry, after all, and Peter thought people stopped when they grew a beard. But Pepper didn’t have a beard yet. Neither did Ms. Goldrush, but his father did and sometimes, Uncle Rhodey did. But then again, Uncle Rhodey’s work made him shave his, so maybe they liked when people cried.

 

Pepper had kneeled beside him and whispered softly, “Peter, your dad might be gone a little longer than expected.”

 

Peter’s fingers fiddled with the specific card that he was saving for when his father returned. He didn’t know what the sick feeling in his tummy was, but it wasn’t nice, not at all, and Ms. Goldrush touched his back like he should be sad, so Peter felt sad.

 

And his tummy sunk deeper.

 

“Why?”

 

Pepper looked sad too, eyes glazed, like marbles. Peter didn’t like marbles. He had swallowed one, and not told his father because he didn’t want to get into trouble. Pepper pushed his hair away and Ms. Goldrush continued to rub his back. Peter felt a bit itchy in his skin at all the touching. Like bugs were crawling out. He scratched absentmindedly at his arm, until he felt pain.

 

The blonde woman breathed, “He…he ran into a bit of trouble. And Rhodey is trying very hard to find where he is right now, but they’re just not sure.”

 

Peter’s eyes widened.

 

“He’ll be thirsty!”

 

Peter would be if he was lost in a desert.

 

Pepper’s face turned pinker and she looked away, biting her lip and Peter saw the tears. Quickly he kneeled up on his knees and wrapped his arms around her neck in a tight embrace. He didn’t know what he had said that had hurt her, or why it had made her cry, but he was sorry. Deeply so.

 

But Uncle Rhodey would find his father. People just got lost sometimes.

 

…

 

_March 2008_

 

Uncle Rhodey called twice a week.

 

Their phone calls were brief usually, and rushed, but Uncle Rhodey always asked about school. About how Ms. Goldrush was treating him and what he had for dinner. Peter thought it was funny that when it was dark in California it was sunny in Afghanistan. Like Uncle Rhodey was on a different planet.

 

Peter asked about his father every time and every time, Uncle Rhodey promised to find him.

 

And Peter believed him.

 

Peter was not ignorant to how smart his dad was. His dad was the smartest man ever and made the coolest gadgets. So Peter knew that wherever he was, he was probably building something to get out. Uncle Rhodey said they were looking in caves. Peter didn’t like the idea of his father being in a cave. His father liked the sun.

 

Peter asked a lot if Uncle Rhodey thought his father had water and Uncle Rhodey always said, “I’m sure.”

 

Peter believed him.

 

“Uncle Rhodey,” Peter said, and it felt like the millionth Thursday or maybe Tuesday, “I really miss my dad.”

 

His voice felt like tears and Peter swallowed thickly.

 

_“I do too, Peter. I’m going to find him.”_

Peter believed him. He really did.

 

…

 

_April 2008_

 

Mr. Obie was strange.

 

In Peter’s few years with his father, Mr. Obie had rarely acknowledged his existence. But Peter found that some grownups were just that way. Always busy, speaking to one another and most of the time, when Mr. Obie was visiting, he was there to talk to Peter’s father.

 

It was hard to get adults to look down sometimes.

 

Mr. Obie had an anxiety inducing quality about him and Peter often hid specifically just to avoid him, but his dad seemed to like Mr. Obie an awful lot. So Peter pretended to like him too. It was just, when he _did_ acknowledge Peter, his smile was very broad and sharp and Peter thought he looked like the Cheshire Cat from _Alice in Wonderland_. And Peter had been more frightened of the cat than the Red Queen.

 

It wasn’t right, to disappear so easily.

 

But Peter hated him, on the trillionth week of his father being missing. When Peter had been brought to the office because Ms. Goldrush’s mother was in the hospital and Pepper had to bring paperwork. Peter had, had his back turned to the adults, coloring silently when Mr. Obie whispered to Pepper, “We have to start considering that he isn’t coming back. Papers need to be signed-“

 

“Rhodey is looking for him,” Pepper’s voice sounded shaky and Peter broke the crayon between the fingers, “There’s still hope.”

 

Mr. Obie sighed, “I admire your optimism, but…people out there don’t survive that long.”

 

Peter was six, would be seven in just a few months…He wasn’t an idiot. He knew Mr. Obie was talking about his father and Peter flew to his feet, whirling to face the adults. Their attention turned to him at the sudden movement and Peter poked out his chest, hands gripped at his sides. Small and trembling, his lower lip quivered as he tried to match the stares of the adults.

 

“You’re wrong!” Peter shouted, voice high, “My dad is gonna come back! You’re _wrong_!”

 

Peter decided he had never been that angry in his whole entire life and he ran out of the office, ignoring the way both adults called for him to come back. He pushed out the office door, but didn’t quite make it to the elevator when the familiar arms of Happy Hogan wrapped around his middle and stopped him from running any further.

 

The boy fought briefly, but Happy was one of the _strongest_ grownups Peter had ever met. Peter’s father told him it was because Happy used to box people and Peter liked the idea of maybe being a boxer, but he didn’t want his nose to bleed because someone’s elbow at school had busted his nose and that had hurt a lot.

 

Happy tugged him back and kneeled down, face concerned and looking around at bystanders that watched Peter’s tantrum as he tried to get away from the man’s hold. Happy hissed quietly, “Hey, hey, what’s up kid? Where’re you going? What’s wrong?”

 

Peter felt exhausted all of a sudden, body going limp. He peered up at Happy, sniffling and trying to breathe, but his nose was clogged, and his chest was spasming with thickness. Peter whimpered, covering his eyes with his hands for only a moment before dropping them and waving them madly, as if his tiny body couldn’t hold in the anger and frustration.

 

“Where is my dad!?” Peter shouted.

 

His dad was in Afghanistan, but that wasn’t fair.

 

Happy’s face dropped and his head shook back and forth, and Peter wondered why all adults did that when Peter mentioned his father anymore.

 

Peter let out a puff of air when Happy didn’t say anything. He stiffened his quivering lip, looking over at Happy with a determined look on his face, “He’s gonna come back. You’ll see.”

 

“I never said he wouldn’t.”

 

Peter blinked, “No one does. But I know they think it.”

 

…

 

_May 2008_

 

It was the trillionth-millionth day when Pepper told Peter his father had been found.

 

Really though, according to the grownups, it had been three months and a few days.

 

Peter’s mind couldn’t wrap around that. It had felt so long, and Peter’s chest ached every day that it was just him and Ms. Goldrush in the house. The big house with the echoes of stairs. Peter felt so small in the walls and the shop was untouchable. Peter wanted to sit in there, while his father worked, but when his father left that was impossible and Peter wasn’t allowed inside anymore.

 

The child’s reaction was a bit underwhelming, but mostly because he didn’t know _how_ to react. The hurt in his tummy had become second nature. It didn’t go away instantly with the news and Peter didn’t know what life would be like without it. Three months was _forever_. His dad had been gone _forever_.

 

Peter didn’t understand why he couldn’t go to the airport to see his father or why his father went to a press conference instead of coming straight home to see him. He didn’t understand why Ms. Goldrush stood, flabbergasted by what Peter’s father had said on television that made all the reporters start screaming. He didn’t know what weapons production was, but it sounded like his dad didn’t want to do it.

 

It was nighttime, and Peter was dead asleep when the door to his room opened slightly.

 

He wasn’t really awake, until someone was reaching under him and pulling him up. The cool air hit him, but then disappeared when his blanket was wrapped back around him and he entered reality with his head placed on someone’s shoulder while he was being held in strong arms. Peter leaned back, blinking blearily as he took in the face of the person embracing him.

 

His father.

 

Peter had, had that dream many times, so when he cupped his father’s itchy face, he was surprised to find that it pricked his skin like something real would. There was a slight light glowing between them and Peter didn’t know where it was coming from as he stared at his dad’s face and tried his best to make sense of everything from his sleepy brain.

 

“Dad?”

 

“Yeah buddy.”

 

His voice sounded funny. Teary. Peter continued to cup his dad’s face and suddenly, the hurt in his tummy disappeared and Peter felt a broad smile form on his tiny face, taking up the entire space. Peter flew forward, wrapping his arms tightly around his dad’s neck and squeezing so tightly he knew he had to be choking him. He was sorry, but also not because he had missed his father so much.

 

Peter asked almost frantically, “Did you have water!?”

 

“I did.”

 

There was something odd on his father’s chest, but Peter was so tired. The red clock said it was almost two and if it was almost two and dark, it had to be very late at that point. Peter did muster up the energy ask, “Why didn’t you come straight home?”

 

“Because,” There was a quiet breath, “There was some stuff I had to do.”

 

“I watched you on T.V. They were asking you lots of questions, like a movie star.”

 

That elicited a small chuckle from his dad, and Peter relaxed slightly. That was good, the air didn’t feel so heavy, and Peter hugged his father tightly before whispering, “I missed you, so much. I knew Uncle Rhodey would find you. He promised, every time he called. He said you’d be okay, and I knew you would. I told everyone.”

 

They moved down to the bed, and Peter noticed the way his father was rocking him. Usually he only did so whenever the bad nightmares came, along with the memories that his dad denied were real. But Peter wasn’t crying, or upset, in fact he was filled to the brim with glee at having his father back. Despite having to blink several times to stay awake, _it was hard_ , but he was so happy. He just didn’t understand why his father was rocking him.

 

Then he heard the sniffling.

 

“Daddy?” Peter had nearly outgrown the name, but the concern that laced it was startling to his young mind, “Are you crying?”

 

His father didn’t respond and the more Peter thought, the more he realized his father hadn’t said much and had only responded in short sentences. Peter had been doing most of the talking between the two. Peter rubbed his father’s shoulder, and still no verbal reply came, but the man was trembling and Peter wondered how the strongest guy in the world could shake so much.

 

A large hand cupped the back of Peter’s head and continued to rock him. Peter tried a few more times to get his father to talk to him, but still, nothing. Peter wasn’t sure when or why he fell asleep, but the world blurred at some point in the night.

 

Before he drifted off completely, Peter mumbled through the haze…

 

“It's okay if you are. I think people with beards can cry too.”

 

And when his father laughed, still recovering from his tears, Peter knew it was true.


	2. The Father's Vantage Point

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's Tony's POV my loves. Gosh you guys are the best. Thanks so much for the comments on part one ❤ I hope this one is alright. Had to get it done before I dive into another week of school and ballet. I might be gone for a little while again, but I sure do hope to write again soon. Love you guys!

He hadn’t taken enough time while saying goodbye to Peter.

 

It retrospect, the boy had been distracted and really unconcerned because Tony would be back in a few weeks, after all, and Peter was fine. The separation anxiety, in the past few years, had faded into a dull pain for the child and Tony sort of missed the days when Peter clung to him. It made it much easier to keep him safe and he had felt less guilty about keeping the child so sheltered. But now Peter was six, almost seven, and just desperately wanted to spread his arms a bit.

 

Tony just…was not ready for that.

 

But the goodbye had been so brief. Tony had been late for the plane. Had kissed Peter on the side of the head and run off like it was nothing and Peter had waved goodbye from the doorway. Tony didn’t know, that he wouldn’t see that small round face for three months. If he had, he would have taken longer. He would have held the boy closer.

 

But the thing was, no one knew about that sort of thing. Richard and Mary hadn’t.

 

Tony’s own parents hadn’t.

 

Maybe it was a Stark thing. Parents going on trips and never returning. Tony had been nonchalant about the whole trip, had even been annoyed about Rhodey taking things so seriously. He lacked that fear. It was the first big trip since Peter and the whole Hydra ordeal. He should have known better, with the nightmares still hanging in the air, but the drinking hadn’t stopped and Peter still woke up often. Tony didn’t know what to tell him about Hydra. About being shot. So, he lied.

 

Peter knew it too, Tony could tell. The kid was so damn smart.

 

All in all, Tony hadn’t been concerned. Had ignored that feeling that had been following him for two years. Had let his guard down. And then there was a ball of fire, shrapnel, his own damned weapons had tried to blow him to pieces.

 

And _fuck_ …he hadn’t held Peter long enough.

 

…

 

Tony’s hands trembled every day in that cave.

 

Not just because they dunked his head regularly or that he was being watched through the cameras. The closest he had ever come to believing in something outside of himself that could control anything. Eyes and ears, and there was something to be said about animals in zoos. He was suddenly very against them.

 

Yinsen’s hands didn’t shake and Tony thought it wasn’t fair. But he was still naïve that way, thinking things had to go his way of the highway. Or Peter’s way too, because Peter often got what he wanted just by tilting his head and blinking rapidly. Tony didn’t have a backbone with Peter and his hands wouldn’t stop shaking.

 

Not just because he had a contraption in his chest that was keeping him alive or because he was on a ticking time bomb, having to finish these guys’ work. Not just because he was practically doing free labor in exchange for his and Yinsen’s lives. No, no, his hands shook because when he looked at Yinsen, and knew so much about him, his family, and yet not much at all…He saw himself and he saw losing Peter.

 

That was why his hands shook.

 

“Got a family?”

 

“Yes, and I will see them when I leave here…and you Stark?”

 

Tony had blinked, glanced at the door and looked around for cameras because he knew they were there. And so he lied.

 

“No.”

 

“No. So you’re a man who has everything and nothing.”

 

The more days that passed, the more words that were exchanged and the more times his head was dunked, Tony considered telling the truth. Admit that Peter existed, because he just wanted to say the boy’s name out loud. Talk to someone about him. His mind was frying with the idea that Peter was alone. He prayed Pepper and Rhodey had followed through with his wishes. His want for Peter to be cared for and not sent away.

 

But it wasn’t safe, by any means. He didn’t know how much the people watching them knew. He didn’t know anything and Tony…he didn’t want risk anyone going near Peter ever again. Maybe it was paranoia, _maybe_ , but he couldn’t… _no_ , his hands shook too much already and everyday he had to work on that suit, it got worse. The closer they inched to the deadline, the more terrifying it got.

 

Despite how much he wanted to speak and hear Peter’s name, he couldn’t.

 

He just…he couldn’t.

 

Yinsen didn’t speak much about his own family either. There was no overview. Only small drops here and there, like tiny pebbles. It wasn’t that Tony didn’t like the idea of hearing about Yinsen’s family, but there would have been pain. He would have thought too much of Peter and sure, it helped sometimes to think of the boy, to think of what he had to live for. But it also brought a guilty wave.

 

He hadn’t held Peter long enough.

 

Tony didn’t have nothing, he had Peter. But Peter didn’t have him.

 

…

 

When Yinsen’s blood was staining the armor of _their_ suit, Tony felt guilty…

 

Tony should have told him about Peter.

 

…

 

There were a lot of things wrong.

 

Tony had wandered in the hot sun, for what felt like an eternity. But truth be told, he’d never miss that cave in a million years. _Trillion-million_ as Peter would say whenever he was forced to wait even a minute longer for something he wanted. And then the helicopters had zoomed overhead and Rhodey had hugged him around his neck and Tony had thought…yeah, that was fine.

 

He was delirious, but whatever.

 

They had stuck him with needles, looked at his chest, and Tony had practically shoved everyone off like they were buzzards picking at his half-dead corpse. He let them do the bare minimum, but ultimately Tony just wanted to go home. There was this long list of death eating away at his skull and he was going to fix it. He didn’t know how, but he was going to fix everything. There had been blindness. He had ignored it all. He was done. This was not what he wanted.

 

It wasn’t what he wanted his legacy to be. Not what he wanted Peter’s legacy to be.

 

Destruction. War. What the _fuck_ was that for an inheritance?

 

Tony let them feed him the pain pills though and he washed them down with scotch, because that was better than dealing with Yinsen’s blood on the suit. Yinsen was long gone, maybe with his family, Tony didn’t know and he was far too numb to dwell on it much further. There was a lot more to do and he was going to have hell from Obie.

 

He wanted to hold his kid, but unfortunately it had to wait.

 

So, he got drunk. Faded into the pain medicine the entire flight home. Rhodey oversaw him, made sure he wasn’t completely falling apart. He had given Tony a whole speech about getting help. Being in captivity for three months just _does not do_ , but Tony would deal with it on his own. He just had to… _he had things to do_. _Christ_.

 

“Tony…this isn’t going to be an easy transition.”

 

“You realize I just took a ton of pain meds, right? It’s not a good time to talk about feelings.”

 

“Tones…”

 

“How’s my kid?”

 

His speech was slurred, slightly. Rhodey looked at him disapprovingly, “He’s fine. I’ve been calling twice a week. Goldrush has been doing most of the childcare, since Pepper is helping Stane with the company and all…”

 

Rhodey paused, “They had some kind of science fair a week ago. Peter got first place…And Pepper says he grew an inch.”

 

It was a brief overview, but _enough_ for Tony to want to get blackout drunk. It wasn’t _much_ , how much could be missed in three months after all? But it was _enough_ for Tony’s heart to clench and his eyes to burn. Rhodey’s face contorted into concern and empathy and Tony looked away. He hadn’t cried in front of Rhodey since Peter had fallen into the pool. Before that, it had been his parents dying. It just wasn’t…okay.

 

“ _Fuck_ ,” Tony breathed, “Fuck, fuck, _fuck_.”

 

He stumbled to his feet. If they hit turbulence he’d probably fly out the window. Rhodey stood, as if expecting him to fall and Tony stepped away. Tony held his chest, and tried to breathe, but it felt like there was an elephant there. Rhodey tried again to come towards him but Tony ordered sharply, “Give me a minute.”

 

Tony’s eyes were watering more, so he turned away, poured another drink and downed it.

 

He just needed a damn minute.

 

…

 

“Effective immediately, I am shutting down the weapons manufacturing division of Stark Industries.”

 

Lights flashed, and Tony could have laughed, but that might have been the pain medication.

 

…

 

Tony didn’t get home until late that night.

 

There had been a lot of shit to deal with.

 

Mainly Obadiah, but all in all, he had managed to squeeze away. Ms. Goldrush was sitting on his sofa when he walked in and it looked like she was seeing a ghost. But she smiled, showed him where dinner was in the microwave and left for the night. Tony didn’t touch the dinner and he honestly couldn’t remember the last time he had eaten since getting back to the states. After the press conference and the following events, it just…hadn’t been a priority.

 

The stairs felt forever long until he made it to Peter’s bedroom. Ms. Goldrush had told him that Peter had gone to bed several hours ago and had suggested not waking him, but Tony just…He just wanted to hold his kid. There was an ache and he needed to know Peter was there. That he was breathing and it hurt worse than when he had a bullet rip through him or the shrapnel in Afghanistan.

 

Of course, Peter would be breathing.

 

_Of course_ , and he would be an inch taller. He’d have a blue ribbon.

 

Tony pushed the bedroom door open, carefully, but it squeaked anyway. He was quick to crack it behind him in order to keep the light from the hallway out and Tony approached the small form on the bed. It was as if he expected to see a teenager lying there, but Peter looked all the same. Maybe his hair was a bit longer, curlier. But he still had baby-round cheeks and he was sprawled on his back, arms wide like he typically slept, Remy the Rabbit a hand away. Tony felt a knot form in his throat and he fought to control it.

 

He knew it was better not to disturb the sleeping child, but Tony did anyway. He slid his hands under Peter’s back and lifted him off the bed, pulling him close to his chest. Carefully he supported Peter’s back as the boy’s face rested on his shoulder and there was very little squirming on the boy’s part. He was limp and warm and Tony could feel his heart beating.

 

The emotions hit him like a stone to the back of the head.

 

Peter began to stir after only a few moments of his father holding him. He leaned back, looking at Tony in the darkness, barely lit and Tony watched the large brown eyes blink in confusion as his mind tried to catch up. Tony’s hands were shaking and he hoped Peter couldn’t feel the trembling. Peter cupped Tony’s face and Tony would have laughed at the gentleness, had his throat not felt like a frog was living there.

 

“Dad?”

 

“Yeah buddy.”

 

And Peter smiled. Smiled bright enough to be seen in the darkness and he flew forward to hug Tony tightly around the neck. Tony felt his chest want to spasm. He wanted so much to cry, but he didn’t want Peter to see that. There were only so many events Tony could lie to Peter about. Not everything could be blamed on dreams and nightmares. Not everything was fake.

 

And when Peter asked if Tony had water…His ribcage split. When Peter asked why he hadn’t come straight home, the guilt had made him want to vomit.

 

Why hadn’t he come straight home?

 

God, he should have.

 

“I missed you, so much. I knew Uncle Rhodey would find you. He promised, every time he called. He said you’d be okay, and I knew you would. I told everyone.”

 

Tony could have screamed.

 

All he had heard was how much of a miracle it was that he was back. How amazing and surprising it was. And yet here was this little boy, who didn’t seem to think it was a miracle at all that his father was in front of him. As if he had known Tony was going to come home all along and had never lost faith in him. How could someone so small hold so much bravery and just…the kid was more than Tony could ever dream of being. More and more every day.

 

Tony had missed _so many_ days.

 

His body felt weak and Tony didn’t have to be a genius to know he had lost it. He sat slowly on the bed, beginning to rock his son. Not for Peter’s comfort, but for his own. Just holding him there and knowing he was with him.

 

Nothing so important had ever existed. Not before the kid.

 

Tears streamed his face, but Tony bit down hard on the inside of his mouth to keep himself from sobbing because he would not let Peter know he was breaking down. It had to be here, of all places. In his son’s bedroom in the middle of the night. The first image of his return to the states for the child.

 

Peter wiggled a bit…

 

“Daddy? Are you crying?”

 

Peter tried to get him to respond, but it was horrifying. He was supposed to be the protector, the strong one and yet here he was…losing it in front of his six-year-old because things had been shitty. Really, shitty. Yinsen was dead. Stark weapons had killed the people Tony was trying to protect and for what? For money? Recognition? None of it mattered because it was a legacy of turmoil.

 

It was Howard Stark’s legacy. Tony’s legacy.

 

He cupped the back of Peter’s head and Peter rubbed his shoulder in an attempt at comfort…

 

“It’s okay if you are. I think people with beards can cry too.”

 

A startled laugh escaped him. Peter’s logic would never cease to amaze him, even when he was shutting down emotionally.

 

Tony sat like that, but he didn’t know how long. Peter had fallen asleep when he stopped rocking. He didn’t feel much better, in fact he felt gross with his face covered in tears and his nose clogged. He shifted his child slightly in his arms before laying Peter back onto the pillow. The boy’s lashes were fluttered closed, and Tony laid down slowly beside him, just to listen to him breathe.

 

Had he really gotten taller?

 

Maybe Tony would be able to tell in the morning.

 

When the sun would come up and reveal what the shadows had not. Reveal the cuts on Tony’s face and Peter would no doubt ask many, many questions, but that was what was great and sometimes irritating about the kid. And Tony would stiffen his lip and answer them to the best of his ability, because maybe Peter was getting a bit too old for the fairytale lies. But Tony would protect the kid as long as he had to, even if it was from some of the truths that the world had to offer.

 

He’d start building. Working. He never wanted to feel helpless again.

 

Tony would make sure the two of them were safe. They wouldn’t be defenseless and Tony would be the one to protect them.

 

His inventions would make sure of that.


End file.
